Cybertronian Heart
by Darkia77
Summary: just a little story on the life of Wildstrike. Read it! beware- this girl has a mouth on her
1. Prologue

**Cybertronian Heart**

A Transformers sort-of-self-insert Fan-fiction

Written by: Darkia77/Charise-Nitefire

**PLEASE READ A/N FOR THIS STORY TO MAKE SENSE!**

_A/N:_ OK, this story is slightly A.U. It's running on the premise that the Spike and Carly weren't born until the late 80s and haven't met the Autobots until Wildstrike was older, like 8-ish, that way when she is 16, Spike and co. are the age they are in the show prior to the movie. The Autobots are also on familiar and good terms with the humans already. The events of the show are also out of order; i.e. the Dinobots were constructed almost immediately after the Autobots waking up and Skyfire wasn't found until way later. Please, roll with it. It will all work out, I promise. And if I can't explain it in the story line, I'll write it up in some drabbles. (I'll write a few anyway, so it's not out of my way in doing such a thing.) It also takes place in the 1990s (prologue) to present day (story) because I need to include modern studies, technology, etc. As I said: just roll with it. And now: to the story!

_**Prologue**_

The night was frigid and the wind howled fiercely, rain pattering angrily against an orange metal surface. Ratchet stood at the entrance, regarding the savage storm silently with hardened blue optics. The sensors had picked it up about three minutes ago; two small blips of life. Something or someone was near the Ark. It did not register either to be Decepticon, but they were too far away to be certain. One was about the size of the lion cassette, Steeljaw, while the other was much smaller; smaller than the Autobots' human friend, Spike. Whatever the source of the signals, they were out there in the cold, wailing weather, and Ratchet's medic code insisted he investigate. It could be a simple curious animal with its offspring, but it was better to know for sure.

Transforming to his Earth ambulance alternate form, Ratchet tore through the softened soil towards his target. It was moving, but not very fast. Within a half a breem he found what he had been tracking, taking his bi-pedal form as he spotted it. Indeed, it was a Decepticon; Ravage. And he had something hanging from his mouth. It was pale, only a small cloth around its lower body, and had a small amount of fuzz on its head flattened by the water. It was covered in red blood that ran off it with the rain. Ratchet's scanners confirmed his fears; the being in the Casseticon's mouth was a human child. Using a basic blaster, he charred the dirt near Ravage, making him snarl and drop the infant. Another blast had him running off to his master. Why Ravage wanted the human, the medic wasn't sure. Ratchet knelt and regarded the tiny human grimly. The child was female, less than two or three months old. Deep bite marks stood out in the back of her neck, along with harsh gashes, cleaved by Ravage's steel claws no doubt, all down her back. He was almost certain that the baby girl was dead.

Regretful at this waist of life, he scooped up the still form, preparing to find a place to at least give her a proper burial. The medic almost dropped her when he heard a defiant squall emit from her small mouth. He stared at the pale creature in his red servo in astonishment; for a being too weak, fragile, and young to defend herself against the outer world, she was putting up an admirable fight. Refusing to waste any more precious time, Ratchet quickly wrapped her in his polishing rag, as that was all he could give her for warmth. Transforming again, he nestled her in his back, racing towards the Ark, sirens wailing. The nearest hospital was at least 120 miles away. His medbay was her only chance. Gunning his engines even harder, Ratchet kept a firm optic on her life signs, which were rapidly fading. Turning back to his bi-pedal mode, he charged out of the storm's grasp and into the comforting light of the Ark. All the Autobots he passed saw was a white and red streak and heard a quiet wailing. A brief comm. to First Aid had the medbay ready and waiting by the time he reached it. Gathering his tools, he set the light, shivering, bleeding human on the table and set to work not an astrosecond too soon...

Everyone who was off duty stared at the little curious, wiggling form on the berth in the medbay. Ratchet gently poked a digit along her ribs, making her squeal and giggle, biting her meaty fist. The medic's faceplates were practically radiating happiness. Through tedious work, and more than a few prayers to Primus, Ratchet had managed to save the infant he had found. His mood was nothing short of glowing. He had stayed with her throughout the night and well into the morning she had arrived to seal all the internal and external wounds, as well as kept her nice and warm to prevent hypothermia. She had been asleep through all of it, as Ratchet had given her a sedative, which was given to him by human physicians in case Spike or Sparkplug had ever gotten injured and needed immediate medical attention by the Autobot medic.

When she came to about three days later, he had still been there, carefully watching her and making sure she had an IV feed to keep nutrients in her body. She had started giggling when he had rolled her over to inspect the wounds. Intrigued, he had started lightly poking her with a stylus, a glossa-depressor stick, even played what Carly had called 'peek-a-boo', in an attempt to get a similar reaction as it had actually been quite amusing. That had been a mistake, as Red Alert had entered just as he started to play. The resulting fritz had the human child shrieking wildly with mirth, and First Aid had to repair Red Alert's crashed CPU.

Then in poured the spectators.

Sideswipe leaned closer to examine the girl. "So, you just... found her?"

"Yes. She was barely alive. She was lucky the sensors detected her, or she'd be long gone to the Well of All Sparks by now."

Sunstreaker wrinkled his olfactory sensors. "Well, keep her far away from me. Her grubby little paws could ruin my finish!"

The red front-liner grinned playfully at his twin. "Oh, come on, Sunny. Don't be like that. She's cute when she makes those noises. Watch this." Sideswipe proceeded to make several odd faces such as sticking his thumbs against his audios and sticking out his glossa, crossing his optics, and so forth. The baby stopped laughing and stared at the red mech dourly. Her wide, brown eyes held a certain intelligence that belied her age.

The red twin stood back, looking more than a little affronted, while Ratchet roared with laughter, making the baby snigger again. "Looks like she has taste in peers," the medic managed.

Tracks looked at her wiggling form before sniffing dismissively. "I doubt it. She may be endearing, but she's a mess. Look at all that glop dripping out of her mouth!"

The white medic shook his helm, carefully wiping the drool from the little girl's chin and hand with the corner of the thermal blanket she was wrapped in. Prowl inspected the baby with a critical optic, his stoic face never altering. She stared back for a moment before her face began to slowly turn red, her mouth quivering and eyes growing watery. Prowl jerked back in a panic, wondering what he had done to the human. Ratchet hid his grin, waving a digit in front of the baby's eyes to get her attention back on him. Instantly, the tears vanished and the grin was back when she looked at the old medic.

Sunstreaker snorted, a hint of a smile creeping on his mouth. "Well, I'll be. I guess the little monster does have taste."

The baby sneezed, sending a small spray of gunk onto Sunstreaker, much to the vain mech's horror. Sideswipe doubled over laughing. "I'll say she does!" The golden warrior only let out a faint whimper of distress before stumbling off to the wash racks, no doubt to scrub himself 'til his paint began to flake, then reapply a fresh coat of the golden color and gloss, and finally wax himself a good measure.

Prowl smirked. "I like her."

"Too bad she don't lahk _you_," Ironhide drawled, a wide grin on his face plates.

"Oh, and you think she would like you better?" the black and white Datsun challenged.

Ironhide's grin expanded. "Ah _know_ she lahks meh." He had helped Ratchet watch the human tot when the medic absolutely needed recharge and refueling. He had learned that the little girl, indeed, liked him. To prove his point, he put a single digit in front of the tiny girl. He didn't have to wait long for her to reach for the digit and pull it to her like a valuable toy, gripping it with her little arms. For some reason, she began gnawing on as much of the corner of his dark finger as she could fit in her tiny mouth. Ironhide choked, forcing is face straight with an effort, obviously trying to repress his laughter. "Tha' tickles. She ain't done tha' bahfore."

Ratchet rolled his optics and swatted the old warrior's servo away from the infant, listening, in faint amusement, to the small cry of protest from the baby girl. "Keep your digits away from her mouth. I don't know where your servos have been."

Ironhide smirked, nudging his old friend in the shoulder with his elbow-joint. "Gettin' prahtective, Ratch? Considerin' ta be 'er replacement Carrier?"

"Say that again and I'll weld all your joints and seems shut. _Especially_ the lower ones."

Then in barreled Wheeljack, covered head to ped in soot from his latest explosion. "Did I miss seeing her? Is the baby still awake?" his head-fins flickered anxiously.

A delighted squeal answered his question as the baby caught sight of the engineer. She looked at him for a long moment and started laughing ridiculously hard, her face flushing. Her entire body shook with the force of her laughter. Ratchet fought to contain his own snickers. "I guess she thinks you're a riot, 'Jack."

The inventor's head-fins flashed happily, making the baby chortle even harder. "If she's not careful, she'll blow a fuse." The tiny girl held up her arms, declaring what she wanted. When Wheeljack hesitated, she gave a demanding screech, clenching and unclenching her hands in a grabbing motion. Delicately, the engineer picked up the tiny girl into his gray servo, watching her as she cooed contentedly and started talking. She jabbered nonsense, making strange noises, so fast and casually that it was like she was really communicating with him as she rolled around in his servo, limbs flailing in excitement.

The white medic tilted his helm to the side. "Well. That's new."

Wheeljack decided to humor the tiny female, nodding to everything that she said, as if he understood every word. This went on for well over three minutes, when she began slow down, looking at Jazz's visor in distraction as it flickered. His optics alight in delight at how well the small being had taken to him, Wheeljack decided that she was finished and soothingly set her back on the berth, her pale form covered in gray and black smudges.

"Wow. She really liked you," Sideswipe commented quietly, slightly jealous.

"Yeah. She did, didn't she?" The inventor almost puffed in pride.

Ratchet growled, grabbed a nearby wrench and smacked the inventor on the helm, leaving a decent sized dent in the metal. "Dumbaft. Now she's dirty and _I_ have to clean her up! And why the frag did you let your Electro-pulse Beam explode? I thought you said it was harmless."

His optics dimmed to express his sheepish grin beyond the mask. "Well, I thought I'd give it a little extra juice and I add some energon to the fuel-" He was interrupted by another smack to his helm.

"Idiot."

The resulting shriek of amusement made everyone present start. The baby girl was literally rolling from side to side with how funny she thought the smack was. Sideswipe grinned. "Do it again. She likes it."

Ratchet cheerfully complied, cracking his beloved wrench upside Sideswipe's helm, knocking the red mech flat on his aft. The baby squealed gleefully, her laughter gradually replaced by hiccups. The mechs present chuckled quietly at the squeaks and light jumps. "I thin' we 'ave 'noth'r Hatchet, 'ere," Jazz snickered, his visor flickering lightly.

"Oh joy," the red Lamborghini twin deadpanned, rubbing his aching helm.

The doors to the medbay slid open, and the Autobot leader, Optimus Prime, strolled calmly through the door. Prime approached the medical berth, staring at the hiccupping infant curiously, who stared right back with the same intensity. Ratchet regarded his CO warily. What does Prime think of having such a young human in the base? The Matrix carrier stood silently for a breem before turning to face his CMO. "Is she fully repaired?"

A nod. "Yes. All her wounds have been closed. Though, many will leave visible scarring."

Optimus regarded the baby girl again before giving a brief nod. "I trust you will find her parents and return her?"

Ratchet did his best not to flinch. He liked this delightful little female. She found him amusing, sneezed on Sunstreaker, glared at Sideswipe, she _adores_ Wheeljack. He found himself faintly unwilling to return her to her family. But, on the other servo, she belonged with her own kind. She _was_ a human, after all. "Yes, Prime. I'll get right on it."

Optimus nodded, turning silently and exiting the medbay but not before briefly adding, "She's charming. Keep her away from the twins, unless you want her to become a servo-full like them."

Ratchet snorted, his mouth twitching while Ironhide roared in laughter at the indignant expression on Sideswipe's face plates. "Oh come on! We're not _that_ bad! What is it, Pick on a Lambo Day?"

Jazz smirked. "Seems fair, considerin' how big a pain in da aft you an' yo' brother can be on a regular basis."

The frontliner grumbled, casting playful glares at the TiC. Prowl, always putting work before pleasantries, swept out of the room, calling behind him, "I'll look for reports on missing offspring. Perhaps her Creator and Carrier have reported her absence."

Ratchet glared at the SiC's back as he left. Yes, her parents would no doubt be relieved to hear that their offspring was well, but that didn't mean that he had to do it this instant! Ratchet, as much as he hated to admit it, liked spending time with and caring for this little one. Maybe Ironhide was right when he said he wanted to be her adopted parent. Ratchet growled quietly. But defiantly not the Carrier. That was Wheeljack. He had more 'motherly qualities', as the humans called it. Ratchet was a Creator, through and through, the 'father figure'. But that didn't mean he didn't like caring for younglings.

The CMO sighed quietly, lifting the child, who cooed happily, and carried her to his quarters, dismissing the other mechs present. They left, almost reluctantly, except for Wheeljack who followed him. "You want to keep her, don't you?" he asked quietly, despite his certainty that he knew the answer.

The white medic carried the child to his personal washracks, turning the water to lukewarm, squatting down with her and a wash rag to begin scrubbing the grime from her fragile body. "I can't. We have to take her back."

"That's not what I asked you."

Setting down the little girl, making sure she couldn't wander off or drown, Ratchet stood with a huff. "Yeah, I want to keep her. She's adorable. I wish I didn't have to return her to her family. She's a handful already, but I like her. As much as I hate to admit it, I like having someone who needs me to care for them every day." The old medic gave a helpless little gesture. "I like having an offspring. A little one to raise, call my own, teach right from wrong. I want to be a Creator."

Wheeljack stared at his longtime mate and dearest friend quietly before wrapping him in a gentle hug. "I know, Ratch. And I know the Dinobots weren't enough."

Ratchet buried his helm in the inventor's shoulder, his servos hanging limply to his sides. "I didn't even get to watch them grow. They were just created in their adult forms."

A small inquizative squeak drew both sets of optics back to the grime-covered infant. She looked at them, almost like she understood everything that was going on. Her eyes, those little pools of chocolate warmth, stared up at them, almost as if she was begging them not to be sad. Ratchet smiled faintly and knelt down, continuing to scrub the infant with a soft rag and a dab of low-strength cleanser. Wheeljack watched the touching scene for a moment before slipping out silently. Ratchet needed this and the engineer just wanted his mate to be happy…

Ratchet stared stupidly at the Datsun. "Are you kidding me?"

The black and white Praxian's doorwings twitched, but his faceplates remained neutral. "I never kid, Ratchet. I have the video-file right here. Your human is officially an orphan." Prowl popped in the data-disk and pressed the little green play symbol. The holo-film showed two humans, both well dressed and obviously of higher class, walking through the rain, most likely heading home, the female carrying her infant; the infant now in the Ark. Out of seemingly no-where, Ravage pounced out in front of the couple, cutting off their path. But they didn't seem frightened. They spoke to the mechanical feline as if they had done so before. The conversation seemed business in nature, both parties apparently at ease. Then things slowly began to spiral out of control. Ravage snapped his jaws at them, obviously a warning, and cast his attention to the female and her burden. She shook her head at him. The female clutched her infant tighter to her chest as Ravage took a step forward. The male was yelling at the Cassetticon now, trying to make him leave. It had the opposite effect. The result was two humans lying in their own blood, slashed to near ribbons, and the child hauled out of visual range.

Ratchet stared in horror at what he had just witnessed. He knew that the Decepticons were monsters but he had no idea that they would go this far. And the same question kept nagging his processor: why, in Primus' name, would they want a human child?

Prowl ejected the disk and placed it in a file, setting it aside in favor of a datapad. "They made no mention of who was to care for the child in their will. They do not have any known relatives who are capable of taking in the child. The humans' default result is that she will be placed in a home for others who also lack a creator and carrier and put up for adoption." A small twitch at the corner of the Datsun's mouth alerted Ratchet that this was not everything.

"Where are you going with this, Prowl?"

The SiC leaned back in his chair, setting down the datapad. "Wheeljack spoke to me about how much the child means to you." Ratchet opened his mouth, no doubt to curse out Wheeljack for saying anything, but paused when the Praxian held up his servo. "And I spoke to Prime. He, in turn, made a request of the humans. They have agreed. Ratchet," Prowl handed a small slip of paper to the medic and smiled broadly, "you are now the proud Creator of the human child."

Ratchet flopped back in his seat, his processor spinning as he looked at the paper. Him? A Creator? Of a human? The medic couldn't believe it. Prowl continued, "The child's birth name is Cheyenne Freedom Wilder. Would you like to have it changed? Given that she is so young, a designation alteration is a simple matter."

The old medic considered it for a moment. A nice name, but not one fitting of a Cybertronian. And any offspring of his would be raised like a Cybertronian, that was certain. "Actually, yes, I'd like to change it. I want to call her…" The ambulance smiled as he recalled her various moods. "Wildstrike."


	2. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1**_

My prey was below me, focusing intently on the path before him, oblivious to the danger. I could see his shimmering black and white armor. My foe. Now, sweet victory would be mine. "YAAAAAAAARRRGH—Glack!" I dove from my hiding place in the vents with a wild cry only to be caught on a stray cable from the ceiling, twist in the air and fall helplessly to the ground with a thud. I cursed myself for being so careless and, while still on my back, snapped the rubber band I always have on my wrist, leaving a bright red welt.

Jazz chuckled heartily at me as he turned around. "Nice try, but watch where ya're divin' next time." The TiC bent down and carefully pulled me to my feet. "Ya a'ight?"

I stuck my tongue out in reply. "Don't spark your diodes, mech. I'm fine. I've taken worse." I emphasize my point by brushing off my dark t-shirt and camouflage cargo pants fussily, readjusting the black fingerless work gloves on my hands and making sure they're snuggly in place.

He chuckled again, lowering his servo to my level. I scrambled up his arm and onto his shoulder, taking a seat next to his helm.

My name is Wildstrike. I'm a Cybertronian, but that's not what most people will tell you. They'll go, "oh, the human pretending to be an Autobot!" I'm really a Cybertronian stuck in this pathetic fleshy body. I'm almost 1/5th of a vorn (about 16 stellar cycles) and I like my life; exciting but still steady. I have a nice place with my family and friends. My friends and family being the Autobots. "You haven't happened to have seen Papa around, have you?"

The saboteur considered it for a moment. "Last Ah saw, he was headin' to th' Rec Room. Tha' was 'bout a joor er so ago."

"You headin' there?"

"Nah, got patrol in a few." His visor flickered in apology.

"Eh, it's cool. Needed to stretch my legs anyway. Been in that vent too long. See ya, Jazz!" I patted him on the shoulder before I slid down his back, to the floor, and left him behind as I ran through the corridors. The Rec Room, while nestled in the heart of the Ark, my home, is very easy to find. Just follow the loud, bellowing voices laughing and joking around.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her luminous presence," was what I was greeted with when I passed through the great doorway. Ah, my dear best friend being a smartaft, as always.

"Blow it out your tailpipe, 'Sides," I huffed playfully while flicking a piece of my auburn hair that managed to escape my pony-tail out of my face.

The red Lambo smiled from his little table where he sat with his twin and Bluestreak. "As polite and sweet as ever." He raised his cube to me in mock salute.

I ignored that. "You guys seen Papa?"

Sunstreaker tipped his Energon cube to a cozy little corner on the other side of the room. Sure enough, there he was, all alone. I waved in thanks and scurried off. "Papa," I started as I climbed the ladder, as one is always attached to almost everything, to the top of the table, "why aren't you answering your comm.? Perceptor's been pinging you for the last four breems."

He looked up from his small gadget on the table surface he had been tweaking, his optics flickering in surprise. His head fins flashed a sheepish pink as he spoke. "Oh. Uh… Heh. I kind of turned it off." He checked his chronometer. "Primus, it's been a whole joor already?" My Papa's name is Wheeljack. He's the Autobots' chief engineer. This kind of thing isn't unusual for him; he'll get all distracted with a project and work his break away.

I shook my head at him, crossing my arms over my chest. "You know Dad's gunna flip on you when he finds out you didn't eat your ration during your break, right?"

Papa gave me an exasperated, but slightly amused, look. "You let me worry about your father. After all, he's been guilty of the same thing many times before."

I rolled my eyes. "And that tactic has worked how many times in the past?" He muttered something sub-vocally. "What was that?" I put my hand to my ear. I smirked because I know exactly what he said.

"Never."

"That's what I thought. Now, grab a High-Grade shot and hurry back to the lab. Percy said he needed your advice on something." I point to the dispensers firmly with one hand on my hip.

"I'm sure I'll be fine until—"

"Do you want Dad to find out that you skipped again?"

Papa struggled to find a comeback for a moment before giving up with a sigh. "No. Alright, I'll grab something and down it on the way to the lab." He bent down so I could give him a quick kiss and a gentle pat on his mask-plate before he set off for the dispenser. "I'm starting to think that she's becoming the Carrier and we're the Sparklings," I managed to hear him mutter.

I smiled, shaking my head in amusement, and slid down the ladder with practiced ease. Not quite, but not too far off. I've had to help make sure my Creator and Carrier properly energize themselves since I was barely walking. So in a way I have been taking care of them while they took care of me. I slipped over to my refrigerator, punched in the code to the door and grabbed a cube of my own. Not really Energon, but it's as close as I can get it and still have it drinkable. A nutrient-enriched beverage that keeps me full until I really have time to eat. I colored it and tweaked the consistency to be almost exactly like Energon. You may think it's paranoid to put a number lock on a refrigerator, but I don't want some stupid visiting humans to take my drinks. They're a pain in the aft to make and I like them.

I quickly gulped down the medium sized cube and tossed the empty container into the recycling machine. I looked down at my wrist comm. 3 new messages. The first was from Perceptor, confirming that Papa made it back to the lab and was slightly energized. That's good. I didn't want to have to hunt him down again. The second was from Prowl, telling me of the new additions to the Ark's rule list. No dumping oil on humans, no playing 'push the mini-bot down the stairs', blah blah blah, boring boring boring. I deleted it without hesitation, though I did get a feeling in the back of my mind that I was going to regret not examining the rules for some sort of loophole. The third message snagged my attention back. Red Alert needed me to go down to level 5 and repair the Teletraan-1 console there. Well, it's something to do, I guess. Better than sitting on my aft doing nothing. I strolled down the hallway, slipping quickly into my locker, grabbing my tool kit, flicking a switch on my wrist unit, and tossed it in my sub-space.

This kind of thing, too, wasn't unusual. I was handy for odd jobs. Being the adopted Creation of an engineer and medic meant I was tech savvy and my size was a plus for small spaces. I honestly didn't mind doing it; it made me feel useful. My Creator and Carrier apparently agreed sometime ago that they didn't want me involved in the war. At all. And it was annoying the Pit out of me. I hadn't fought a single Decepticon yet though I managed to convince Ironhide and Sunstreaker to give me basic combat training in case of an assault on the Ark, but so far no such luck. Dad also taught me how to perform basic and advanced first aid on an injured 'bot (as well as throw a wrench with deadly aim, but we kept that tidbit to ourselves), Papa taught me how to construct an explosive weapon out of almost anything, Jazz is teaching me how to be sneaky like a Special Ops member and Prowl is teaching me how to think logically, calculate my enemy's movements and courses of action. Everyone is preparing me in some form or another. They may not want me to be involved but they don't want me to be defenseless, which is considerate.

I sigh as I strolled down to the belly of the Ark. I think I'd be willing to sell my kidney for experimentation just to go up against a 'con once. I mean, they let those worthless bums, Spike and Sparkplug, go and they can't even fight! So why can't I? I guess parents are just bewildering like that. I punched in the code giving me access to level 5 and passed through the giant doorway. Primus, would it kill them to maybe take a pinecone or two down here, just to freshen up this disgusting stale air? I wrinkled my nose but made my way to the Teletraan unit and popped out the bottom console to get to work.

I pulled out my tools and lay them neatly in a row, in a particular order. Before long, I'm on my back, upper torso shoved in the main infrastructure. How in the Pit had this unit not fried long before this? All the circuits were routed wrong, there's dust in the motherboard, and… how did a rock get jammed here? I send a comm. to Prowl and Papa, telling them just what I think of the care this poor computer was receiving and requesting a new info drive to install. I tug on the pebble, but it decides it wants to be stubborn. I reach out of the computer for my tools, only to touch the bare metal floor. I frowned. "Where the frag are my stupid pliers?"

"Is this what you're looking for?" I felt another hand touch mine, passing me what I had been seeking. A warm, fleshy hand.

I jump in surprise, slamming my head on the circuit board above me. "Slagging carrierless creation of a fragging glitch whore!"

"Whoa, watch the language, 'Strike. There are young audios around," Bumblebee jokes as I slip out of Teletraan. The yellow VW Bug shuffled worriedly, saying with a small, nervous chuckle, "Look who came to visit."

I toss him a glare then turn my scowl towards the human. Spike. Primus, how I loathe him. He's pathetically weak, without ambition, as well as lacks intellect and common sense. He disgusts me. He, his father, his girlfriend, the dimwitted blonde, Carly, and their entire race all disgust me. I honestly believe the Decepticons would be doing the universe a favor by exterminating them. I'm only supporting the Autobot goals because I like the planet's vast wildlife and for my family and friends' sake.

I briefly glanced at my tools. They were scattered and in disarray. I twitched. "You touched my tools."

"Well, they were nice craftsmanship so I wanted to examine them," he tried to explain.

"You _touched_ my tools," I repeated.

"I know that I shouldn't have—"

"_You. Touched. My. Tools._" I grabbed my favorite wrench, the WDL-WR05 Open Ended Spanner, and smacked him over the head with it. Lucky for him he was wearing that stupid yellow hardhat of his or he'd wind up with a lot more than a bump.

The human fell back with a yelp and scrambled away. "Geez, I'm sorry! You didn't have to hit me! Man, I think it's going to swell." He tenderly rubbed the spot where I hit him.

Bumblebee looked like he was trying to keep from laughing. "I did warn you not to touch her tools, Spike."

My mouth twitched as I fought to contain a smile. Humans are stupid, ignorant little fraggers. "Touch my tools again and I will do more than give you a _light tap_ on the head, human." I turned to the yellow spy. "You need something?"

He held out a small microchip, the info drive I needed. "Yeah, Wheeljack told me to bring this to you."

I snatched it out of his servo and put it in my subspace. "Thanks, 'Bee, but I gotta go wash my tools before I finish my repairs here. They're filthy." I cast a sidelong scowl towards the still-recovering human. Pathetic. He's still on the floor and I barely hit him. "Don't let your _pet_," I spit the word with a firm look to the mini-bot, "touch my work. I'll be right back."

You might be wondering why I have such a deep distaste for humans. I honestly don't know. My Creator and Carrier tried to bring me up to accept humans, to accept I was one, even if only in body. I denied and rejected everything. From the very beginning, I couldn't help but see these beings as weak little meat-bags. They're horrible little grease stains that need to be washed away. But I put up with their vile presence for the sake of my family and friends. That doesn't mean I won't express my dislike of them and have a little fun.

I quickly gather up my items in a rag, tossing the case into my sub-space, not even wishing to touch them yet, and depart from the room to seek out the Medbay. Dad has some enzyme formulas I can scrub my tools with and clean my hands of those germs from the human. I refuse to use them while they are tainted like this.

I sigh tiredly, rubbing my free hand through my hair. Why do those fleshbags always have to get into my stuff? It's not like I ask much of them. Two rules: leave me alone and don't fragging touch my stuff. But I guess that's too much to ask for, isn't it?

I cease my musings on the stupidity of humanity as I nearly walk straight into a large leg. A _very_ large leg. "(Rawk!) You, 'Strike, need to keep optics more open, yes? Me almost step on you." a familiar voice squawked as the owner turned and kneeled, his blue optics shimmering in amusement.

Ah, Swoop. My dear youngest older brother. I smile warmly. My brothers always make me smile. I guess it's because we get along so well (we all have mad tempers [except Swoop, but he's an exception to the rule]), despite the size difference. "Sorry 'bout that, bro. Hey, you wouldn't be heading to the Medway, would ya?"

The Dinobot tilted his helm to the side. "Yes. Me, Swoop, heading there now. (Rawk!) You, sister, want lift?" He held out a servo for me.

"Thanks, Swoop. I'd love a ride." I climb into the offered appendage, easily scaling up to his shoulder and I rest on the edge of his wing. I like hoping onto my brothers to move around. So much faster to get around, considering how large the Ark is.

Swoop noticed the bundle in my hand. He clicked his vocalizer. "Him, Spike, touch you, sister's, tools again?"

I scowl, which is enough assent. Despite not being very advanced in grammar, my brothers, Swoop in particular, are adept at telling what has me ticked off. "I don't suppose it would be too much to ask if you could maybe… Oh, I don't know… Step on him? 'Accidently', perhaps?"

He croaked a laugh. "No. Me no think me can do that. Me, Swoop, get in too much trouble. (Rawk!) Them, Grimlock and Slag, get Dinobots in enough messes already."

"Oh well. It was worth a shot," I sigh, rolling my shoulders nonchalantly. It was true. My two oldest brothers always find away to either start an out-and-out brawl or smash something that twists some-bot's tubes. Amusing to watch, though. I even managed to start a couple fist fests, myself. Of course, I didn't stick around to join in; I may be hotheaded, but I'm not suicidal.

We found ourselves in the Medbay easily enough. I love this place. It's always so soothing; welcoming me with the warm oranges, the sterile equipment…

"What the fragging Primus is _wrong_ with you?"

… And the lovely sound of my Dad tearing some-bot a new one. Sure enough, as we passed the first doorway, there was my father, Ratchet, wrist-deep in Cliffjumper's chassis, knocking out some large dents. My Dad is the CMO of the Ark, so he has a pretty comfy command position here on the Ark. His orders can even override that of Prime, as long as it's a medical necessity.

Swoop easily sets me on the ground, making a motion for me not to bug Dad. We both know that once he gets going on lecturing a 'bot on doing something that lands him in the Medbay you leave him alone, if you value your circuits. "Why, in the name of the Great Creation Code, would you pick a fist-fight with Grimlock? Are you trying to get yourself killed, you dumbaft?"

Remember when I said I was not suicidal? Yeah… "And if he finds your servo in his rust stick jar again, CJ, he'll put you through a laser-powered trash compactor," I sweetly add over my shoulder as I make my way to the enzyme bath on the far side of the room. Cliffjumper gave me a mixed look of rage and utter terror. Frag, I am so mean. I suppose I should expect payback for that one. Oh well. I happily take off my gloves; I then turned on the faucet of the enzyme bath to let the cleansing liquid flow into the basin, waiting for it to fill.

I swear I thought Dad's optics were going to turn Decepticon-red after I spoke. What can I say? Dad loves his goodies. "… YOU'VE BEEN STEALING MY RUST STICKS?" He grabs his wrench and happily slams it across Cliffjumper's helm, leaving a nice sized dent in the metal. First Aid would probably have to fix that one. I think after my little comment, CMO Sour-Spark might not be so willing to work on the poor mini-bot.

After a couple more minutes of repairs, Dad kicked CJ out the door and grumbled the entire way to his desk, which happens to be sitting right next to my current position. Neither of us spoke to each other for a long moment. He was focused on a datapad, I on scrubbing my tools in the now full tub. Finally, he asked, without glancing up, "He didn't take my rust sticks, did he?"

"Nope," I replied in the same manner.

"Spike touched your tools again?"

"Yup."

"You smacked him?"

"Mm-hmm."

Dad's optical ridge arched and he glanced at me out of the corner of his optic. "Are you going to the brig now or will you make Prowl chase you down?"

I sneer to myself, drying off several screwdrivers. "Prowl can haul himself out of his office and get me. The day I roll over for him is the day Megatron kisses Prime's skid-plates."

Dad put down his datapad, resting his helm on several digits, his mouth twitching. "Oh, my dear little Wildstrike... What am I going to do with you?"

"Hopefully, give me a sweetie, a pat on the back, and send me on my merry way to sow whatever havoc I will."

He laughed heartily, covering his optics, his shoulders shaking. "We need to do something about that run-away glossa of yours."

"But I get that trait from you, dear Creator." I bat my eyes at him innocently.

Dad sighed quietly, fondly smiling, "That you do, sweet-Spark."

A thunderous explosion followed by a violent shaking of the Ark disrupted our pleasant conversation. Dad scowled in annoyance. "One of these days, I'm going to offline that crazy glitch of an inventor you call Carrier."

"If he doesn't do it to himself first," I comment absently. "Think he's alright?"

"He always is. Wheeljack will have me patch his sorry aft up just so he can go on his happy way and do it all over again."

I shake my head, snickering. "That's Papa's circle of life."

Dad snorted. "More like circle of stupidity." But, despite the gruff attitude, he packed up an emergency repair kit and strode from the Medbay in search of what was left of Papa. I honestly think sometimes Dad will follow through with the threat. Or maybe lock him in the brig to keep him away from that fragging explosion-prone lab of his; like a little puppy put in a cage for chewing on a favorite shoe one too many times. What an absurd image.

My tools fresh, clean and replaced into my red metal case then returned to my subspace, I drain my basin and slip back on my gloves. I barely made it five feet out of the Medbay when an ominous shadow fell over me. Fragging pit. Thought I would have more time. I feel a shiver run down my back as I turn around to face Cliffjumper, who glared murderously at me. In his servos were two open buckets of paint and I was willing to bet there were more in his sub-space. I gulped. "H-hey, CJ. C'mon, mech. It was just a little joke…"

Apparently it was only funny to one party (the one that didn't feel the wrath of a wrench) as the mini-bot lifted both buckets and tossed their contents at me. I barely had time to screech and run, the paint missing me by less than a micrometer. We both ran through the hallways of the Ark, him, throwing paint and curses, me, running for my life… well, the life of my clothes. I may not be a Prima Dona like some-bots (), but do you know how hard it is to scrub paint off your clothes? Not fun.

We charged into the Rec Room, CJ hot on my tailpipe, more and more paint flying. I prayed to Primus. _Please, if you're there and have a sense of humor- and given you created the Twins, that's highly likely- help me escape this with my clothes intact. It was just a teeny little joke!_

It seemed the Great Creator works in mysterious (and EVIL) ways. Right as I rounded around a support beam on the right side of the room, I charged face-first into Prowl's leg. Me and my slagging sucky luck. Cliffjumper froze in his paint throwing, not daring wanting to hit our SiC with his payload. I smile nervously. "Hiya, Prowler."

Prowl's optics brightened and the sadistic smirk he only got when punishing someone lit his face. Without a single word, not even a 'hello', a 'what are you doing', or even a 'watch where you're fragging going', he picked me up by the back of the collar of my shirt, carrying me from the room.

"Aww, come on, Prowl! What'd I do this time?" I like playing the victim. Gets me less time in the brig because it gives my best pals (Sunny and Sides) a kind of… righteous belief that they need to bust me out. Likewise, I do the same for them.

"Several violations of conduct, Wildstrike. Section 52, Subparagraph 18, Rule 184: hitting visiting allies, even if they prove annoying or uncooperative, is strictly prohibited. Section 13, Subparagraph 4, Rule 79: the falsification of a crime of theft to a superior officer is not permitted. Your punishment is two days in the brig. A rather light penalty, so I've volunteered you for cleaning the Target Range once you have completed your brig time." Prowl sounded almost giddy as he read off the 'charges'. Then again, my usual partners in crime hadn't pulled any tricks in a few weeks, nor had I, so I bet he was just itching to catch us doing something wrong.

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe, still at the table they had been before, smirked deviously after Prowl, whispering back and forth between each other, while I was carried off like a scolded cyber-pup. The SiC should watch his back for a while. My partners in crime will take vengeance, as they always do.

I crossed my arms and huffed as Prowl dropped me into a small cell (usually used for mini-bots or cassettes) and activated the energized bars. His faceplates had regained their usual professional demeanor. "I hope this will serve as a lesson about the proper way to behave in the Ark." I mouth along with his words mockingly, having heard them at least a hundred times before and I'll probably hear it a hundred times again.

Soon I was left alone in the brig with nothing to do, so I flopped onto the berth tiredly. At this rate, I might as well start calling this cell my personal quarters. Ah well. I'll be out of here soon.

As a form wavered into existence on the other side of my bars, I couldn't help but feel surprise. _Sooner than I expected_, I admitted. I'd recognize that blue and white frame anywhere. "Ah, my lovely noblemech. Have you come to release me from my pit-like captivity?"

Mirage chuckled. "Sorry. I've just been charged with guarding your cell, to make sure you don't escape."

"Red still fritzing about the last time?" I laughed.

"No. But he did seal off all air ducts in the brig because of your escapades as well as changed the codes for the doors. He also insists that someone keep a firm optic on you while you are in here," the noble explained.

"You can watch me all you want," I tease with a wink. I like flirting with Mirage. He's rather handsome; nice, sleek frame with well-formed faceplates. I've always been fond of the quiet, blue mechs. Sighing, I sit up from the berth, staring at Mirage in playful longing. "My dear Mirage… Is there _any_ way I can convince you to break me out of here? Maybe leave Hound and run off with me? Find a nice little house on Cybertron… Have some Sparklings, go turbo-fox hunting…"

His mouth twitched as he fought to contain his laughter. "I'm afraid not, Wildstrike."

"Shame. Guess I'll feel a little less guilty, then."

The nobelmech frowned in confusion. "Guilty? About what?"

"This," a deeper voice rumbled before Mirage grunted, his optics flaring in surprise, and fell to the ground, deep in recharge. Two forms melted out of the doorway, wearing identical demonic looks of glee.

"Oh how I love you guys! You know that don't you, Sunny? Right, Sides?" I squealed happily as I ran up to the bars.

Sunstreaker chuckled, tossing aside the now-empty syringe of Cybertronian tranquilizer. "Yes. You show it every time you break us out of here."

"And we return it by busting _you_ out," Sideswipe confirmed with that cocky, crooked grin of his. He twirled a set of keys on a ring that he had snatched off of Mirage. Well, he isn't called _Sideswipe_ for nothing. He's a pretty fragging good thief, when he's not too busy mouthing off and pranking mechs.

"I'm guessing Sunny hacked the door codes, huh?" I asked as Sideswipe deactivated the bars and lifted me onto his shoulder.

The small, but proud, curve at the corner of the golden twin's face was all I needed for confirmation. Sunny and Sides told me all about their adventures as younglings on the streets of Iacon. Always breaking into places and taking what they could to survive. It was really rather cool. Sunstreaker was the hacking skills, Sideswipe was behind the snatching, and both worked together as the brains and brawn. I loved listening to their stories when I was little. Now the three of us have as much fun on the Ark as we can before we inevitably get caught, put in the brig, get out and do it all over again.

A little reminder popped into my mind. "Hey, Sides? Can you take me to level 5? I've got something I need to finish up." At his thumbs up of conformation, I glanced at my best friends faces with a happy little smile. Honest work, good friends, breaking rules for fun, training, cute mechs, and a loving family… Primus, I love being an Autobot.

_**A/N:**_ Love? Hate? Want more? Please, let me know! :3 Also, got some drabbles up. Check them out!


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